


When the World Turns Grey

by josywbu



Series: Irondad Advent Calendar 2020 [18]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Angst, Blood, Canon Divergence - Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Family, Gen, Gunshot, Minor Character Deaths, Orphan Peter Parker, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Violence, what could one day become a villain tony au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:55:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28114236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/josywbu/pseuds/josywbu
Summary: Two years ago, Peter’s last living relatives were killed and Tony took him in, no questions asked. When The Avengers fall out, Peter has to fear his place in the world once more.
Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Series: Irondad Advent Calendar 2020 [18]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2029600
Comments: 25
Kudos: 103





	When the World Turns Grey

**_2 years ago_ **

When Iron-Man’s boots touch down, repulsors powering down and there’s the uncanny clank of metal boots on stone, the worst is already over.

It’s dark and, in a horrifying cliché, the only source of light is the dim strain of an old street lamp that makes the whole scene seem like something straight out of a horror movie.

There’s a man on the ground, blood pooling in the cobble stone grooves and running down the street. Hunched over him – eerily quiet just like the man himself – is a woman. Her head is resting awkwardly on his shoulder and her long brown hair is hiding both their faces from the cruelty of the world around them.

The only sound he can hear is the lapping of water as the rain keeps pouring down mercilessly and the heavy breathing of the man responsible for the tragedy.

He’s short, not much taller than the kid standing a few feet to the side. His clothes are worn and dirty and dripping (with blood or rain, he can’t tell), sticking to his pathetic frame. His hand is still holding the gun but it’s shaking and his eyes are wide and scared and manic.

“Please, please,” he almost whimpers and takes another step back, “I didn’t – I didn’t –“

It’s like he’s asking, begging, the kid for forgiveness and for the longest while he doesn’t get anything in return. The boy’s face is hidden from view with the hood pulled over his head but in the dim light of the street lamp his eyes shine as wet as the rain still running down the streets.

He blinks. Suddenly the doe eyes are blazing with more anger than a child of his age should know and he surges forward, breaking the silence with a heart wrenching scream.

“You killed them!” he screams, sobs, gasps and he has almost reached the attacker when he slams into something hard. “He killed them!” he screams again, fists slamming against the metal suit that has cut him off, “He killed them, he killed –“ he hiccups and suddenly the suit is gone and he’s falling against something soft – into someone’s arms.

Without looking away from the distressed boy, Tony Stark tells the man to drop the weapon and to surrender to the suit standing over him in sentinel mode, repulsor glove outstretched and threatening, A.I. inside already calling the cops.

There’s no hesitation, not even the hint of indecision, when the man’s calloused hands pull the boy’s head against his chest, gripping him tight and shushing him like he thinks much smaller children are being calmed. He’s shaking like a leaf, eyes squeezed shut so tight it must hurt and hands clutching at the sleek material of the undersuit in a desperate attempt to tether himself to the only warm, living person there.

When the police get there, the boy is still crying but between hiccups he gasps out a name – Peter Parker – and a scared, “What’s gonna happen now? What’s – what’s gonna happen to- to me? I’m– I’m all– all alo– alone.”

“Shush, Pete,” Tony’s grip tightens around the kid, shielding him from the glaring lights that hurt their eyes and the new reality he’s going to have to live in now. “It’s gonna be okay, buddy, it’s gonna be – I’ll make it okay,” he whispers into his hair – a momentous promise and a beacon of hope in the dark.

* * *

**_now_ **

“F.R.I.D.A.Y.?”

Peter doesn’t have to specify his question, that’s how often he has asked it in the past hour, for the AI to tell him that there is still no news on his guardian.

He rolls over in his bed and onto his back, staring at the constellations Tony and him had pinned to the ceiling when he first moved into the tower with him, wishing he’d just hear something, anything from the man himself.

There was always a part of him – no matter how big or small the hassle – that worried. Worried about Tony not coming back home, worried about being left again in a world he still doesn’t quite understand. He might have seen a lot more than most 15 years old had but in these moments, it feels glaringly obvious that he’s still a child and that he still needs someone to be there.

And, for two years now, that someone has been Tony Stark. Without batting an eye, he had taken him in after he had been orphaned yet again and while not everything had always gone smooth, he’s proud of how far they’ve gotten.

Recently, though, things have been different. Tony has been more on edge, always stressed, always anxious and he knows his panic attacks have gotten worse, too. He thought that maybe after Germany – when they could get the other Avengers to see reason – he would get better but then Steve Rogers fled again and while they were already on their way home, Tony had suddenly abandoned ship and said there was something he had to do and he’d meet him at home.

That was almost four hours ago and Peter’s worry is growing with every passing second. He bounces his feet against the bedpost and absentmindedly strokes his fingers over the rapidly healing bruise he’s sporting on his face courtesy of Captain America himself.

He has half a mind to go check on Rhodey again just to have something to do, when he hears the faint whirring of repulsor blasts, as familiar as the clanking of boots when the suit hits the landing platform.

“Boss has landed,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. informs him two seconds later but he’s already out of his room and sprinting towards the living room. When he gets there, Tony is just stepping out the elevator and – without thinking about it – he barrels into him, arms wrapping tightly around his waist and face buried in the wonderfully familiar place just beneath his clavicle, making himself a little smaller than he actually his to burrow fully into his guardian.

“Hey kiddo,” Tony greets him like he usually does – voice soft and fingers stroking through his hair – but there’s something else in his voice this time, too. Something foreign, something wrong.

He takes a step back, looking up just slightly to fully take in his mentor’s form. His face is bruised and bloody, his undersuit partially torn and he’s favoring his left side a lot even when he’s standing.

The thing is, though, that Peter has seen Tony beaten up before. He has seen and helped patch up quite a few ugly bruises and he knows about the scars that ultimately line a superhero’s body. Hell, if he didn’t have super healing, he’d be having a handful of his own. But, despite him being almost heartbreakingly used to various injuries, he has never seen him this defeated.

For as long as he can remember, Tony has never come out of a fight broken down to his very core and with his eyes cold in a way he has never seen them before.

They soften again, when he meets his gaze but only for a moment until he spots his black eye and they harden once more.

“Pepper called,” he throws in before Tony can start talking because from the way his mouth has formed into a thin line and the creases on his forehead from the frown, he knows he’ll have some very choice words to say about it and it doesn’t want him to get angrier. He wants him to smile again, to look at him with that spark in his eyes like he’s the most precious thing on the planet.

“She, uh, she heard what happened and she’s worried about you,” he tells him, almost breathlessly and watches, with a heavy heart, how Tony brushes it off, turning away to head towards the kitchen. Walking can’t fully hide the limp in his step but Peter doesn’t comment on it, no matter how much he wants to.

Instead he trails after him. “And I went to see Uncle Rhodey, too.” He winces when he sees Tony stop for a moment and his shoulders tense and he can hear his breath hitch. “He’s okay,” he’s quick to add, “I mean, uh, not completely fine of course but he’s awake and has been asking about you, too. I’ve actually already started a preliminary design for prosthetics but I wasn’t sure how to –“

“He’s better off without me,” Tony interrupts him with a scoff, taking out two glasses and pouring water into both, handing him one. “Pepper, too. I mean, you see where being close to me gets you. You should follow their example.”

He splutters indignantly, “I’m not –“

“Here,” Tony interrupts him again before he can really find the words to say how ridiculously that is and throws an ice pack at him which he catches on instinct. “Take a towel and put that on your face. I’ll be in the workshop if you need me.”

And with that he limps away again, leaving Peter with a half-finished glass of water and an ice pack in his hands and the terrifying feeling that life as he has known it for the last two years is slowly slipping out of his fingers. Again.

* * *

Peter gives Tony some time to stew because he knows he needs it but after half an hour the anxiety crawling up his lungs is too much handle and he can’t keep his feet still anymore so eventually he does bite the bullet and goes downstairs.

Dressed in one of Tony’s large hoodies over his most comfortable pajama pants he passes by the kitchen before shuffling down the stairs and into one of his favorite places of the entire building. Really, in the entire world.

He has fallen asleep here, only to wake up covered by a fuzzy lime green blanket on the cozy out of place couch in the far corner of the room with Tony still bend over something or the other.

They have fought here – their very first fight – about him being Spider-Man and a ton of smaller fights have happened here, too. Arguments over honesty, curfews, family, ... When he thinks of them now, though, he only remembers making up. The dried tear racks on his cheeks and the apology in Tony’s dark eyes.

He remembers the hugs that followed, the movie nights with fast food and ice cream, the soft I love you’s.

The workshop is where Tony taught him how to fix a car and where he crashed his very first one trying to park.

It’s where he’s had to help Tony through a severe panic attack after a fight left him raw and it’s his favorite place to do his homework in, always to the faint whirring of the bots.

This has rapidly become his safe place and he’s never been scared to come down here. Not when he first moved in and everything was unfamiliar and new, not after a nightmare or fights or anything because Tony always made sure that he felt welcome and at home.

He’s not scared now, at least not really. He’s kind of wary, anxious and worried about the hard lines on his guardian’s face but not scared of intruding.

F.R.I.D.A.Y. lets him in without a code and without a word and the door closes behind him soundlessly.

The entire room is a mess. Which is nothing new per se but it’s a different kind of mess than he expected. He had expected a rage fueled one – maybe something thrown across the room, a few broken pieces here and there – but not this work fueled mess with papers all over the desks, Dum-E whirring dutifully around a damaged chest plate and pages of code pulled up on the holographic screens.

In the middle of it all sits Tony, fingers tapping an impatient rhythm into his knee as he’s waiting for something or the other to render.

“I brought you a sandwich,” he declares to announce his presence and takes a seat on his chair only to push himself the last few meters over to Tony to hand him the BLT he had thrown together and then places a small box on a side table. “And a first aid kit. You look like you could need it.”

Without arguing Tony takes a bite from the sandwich, eyes already glued back to the computer screen, and Peter narrows his eyes at him.

“That was easy,” he remarks, watching the older man eat suspiciously, “Will you let me clean up your wounds, too?”

“Pete,” he sighs and finally turns around to really meet his eyes. Once he does the flurry of activity, the madness of creation, abates somewhat and he’s back to being just Tony. His Tony. “You don’t need to patch me up. I’m fine.”

He shakes his head, eyes never leaving his mentor’s because there’s still something in there that he can’t quite define. “No, you’re not,” he says quietly and pushes the swivel chair back and forth by bouncing his legs.

For a moment Tony looks like he wants to argue but then he just sighs, drops the sandwich back down on the plate and turns his body fully towards him, shoulders hanging and stance weary but eyes impossibly gentle still.

“No, maybe I’m not,” he admits, reaching out to brush a thumb over the bruise on Peter’s face that has almost faded completely. He lets himself lean into it, relishes in the feeling of being cared for. It’s proof of Tony finally being here with him instead of fighting somewhere or lost in his own mind.

When he speaks again, Peter’s eyes fly open.

“But I’m gonna make it okay.”

It’s a call back to almost two years ago where he made a similar promise and Peter is inclined to believe him, simply because he hasn’t been let down so far but there’s that weird tone again. That cold determination and absolute conviction that is almost scary. But it’s Tony. Tony doesn’t scare him.

“What happened?” he tries without much hope for an honest answer.

“Life, kiddo,” he says humorlessly. “Life happened.”

He glares at that, the words ‘I’m not a child’ already on his lips but before he can utter them, Tony actually keeps going.

His hand drops from its place on Peter’s cheek, instead he clenches it on his knee, the tapping with his foot growing increasingly louder as anger starts clouding his features and when he talks his eyes spit fire.

“What happened is, I finally learned the truth about our dear Capsicle and he almost killed me for it. Him and his brainwashed terrorist friend, of course. And on my way back home, you know, beaten up by American’s icon and their Most Wanted do you know what I see? A loud mob hollering and howling for justice for Blondie.” Hit spews out the words like they leave a bad taste in his mouth he needs to get rid of.

He has never seen his mentor this furious before. Objectively he knows that a Tony Stark this angry is something to be scared of but he knows in his heart that he doesn’t have to be. He’s safe here.

His own anger is rising instead. Someone hurt his guardian, his only family, and he won’t stand for it. He won’t let them take anyone else from him.

“What did he do?”

“He lied,” Tony laughs but it sounds hollow, “And I’m gonna show you about what. In fact, I’m gonna show the whole damn world what he’s done.”

“What’re you gonna do?”

“I’m gonna clean up this mess,” he declares, “As we’re speaking Captain Spangles is trying to break out his friends from prison,” he spits out the word like it’s venom, “and I’m going to be an upstanding citizen and stop them from doing that. And then, then I’m officially done with all the lies and half-truths everyone seems so hellbent on telling. I’m gonna tell the world the plain, stripped down truth.”

* * *

The video starts off with Tony sitting on the desk in the office he barely uses but likes to show off to intimidate. He looks directly into the camera and smiles but it’s entirely fake. There are no crow feet deepening around his eyes, no spark of mischief – just a glint of a sardonic humor, laughing to a joke only he knows.

He’s dressed in a suit but left the first two buttons of his dress shirt unbuttoned as he’s lounging on the chair, legs crossed so his left ankle is resting on his right knee. He’s casually leaning backwards, hand drumming a rhythm into the expensive-looking wooden desk.

The starkest part about his appearance is the dark, angry looking bruise on his left eye and the deep-red cut on his cheek that he doesn’t even try to hide.

Peter is watching the video from the living room in the tower, curled into his favorite blanket, heart beating fast and anxious in his chest as he watches the man that has become his family in two short years talk in a voice that’s supposed to sound superior and intimidating but to him just sounds broken and lost.

“Hello ladies and gentlemen and welcome to the show of your lives.”

Tony leans forward and levels the camera and thus his audience with a joyless laugh.

“I know you’ve heard about the Accords. Who hasn’t.” He cocks his head to the side as if he’s analyzing the people on the other side of the screen and Peter feels weirdly like he’s been caught in the act. Of what he’s not sure.

“I know some of you are still defending our very own Captain America’s stance of shoot first, ask questions later. You also know that I opposed that.“ He sits up straighter and puts an authority into his voice that Peter never had to see before. He realizes in that moment just how powerful Tony is and just how restrained he normally was. Now that the restraints are off, even if just in this moment right now, Peter and the world get to witness his true authority-

“Now,” he says with a sly grin that doesn’t reach his eyes and has nothing to do with the happy smiles Peter is used to, “I think it’s time you learn just who your dear Captain is and who he’s trying to protect. Because believe me, it’s not you or me. He doesn’t care about protecting us.” He leans back in his seat – a call back more to the villains Peter has seen on tv than the superhero he is. “F.R.I.D.A.Y., curtains up, film rolling. Show them the truth.”

And, thus, the most horrifying movie of his life starts playing right in front of Peter’s eyes.

When it’s over – when he has watched his guardian’s heart be shattered first metaphorically, then literally – he understands anew the anger and sheer helplessness of people faced with injustice. His chest hurts as he’s trying to breathe through the anger and pain that has soon taken over his body.

It’s a relief to him, when Tony’s face reappears on the screen and now he understands the coldness in his eyes and harshness of his tone. He understands and he wishes he doesn’t. But, most importantly, Tony is breathing and talking and _alive_. 

“The truth and justice don’t matter to that man we all thought of as our hero. People are scared of what high-powered individuals are able to do and, if I do say so myself, rightfully so.” Tony has his hands clasped together, he’s leaning forward in his chair with his elbows propped up on his knees and his eyes focusing on his hands. He thinks, quietly for a moment. “There’s another thing I would like to tell you.” He looks up at the camera, directly in Peter’s soul and – so he thinks – in the heart and souls of millions of people around the world. “Steve Rogers is currently trying to break into the penitentiary for enhanced individuals known as the Raft to break free people who have – intentionally or not – hurt others and refuse to be held responsible for it.”

He finishes his speech with a crooked smile. “I will not let them. And then I’ll be coming for the rest.”

When the camera cuts off and the news anchors latch on to what just happened, Peter only has enough energy to blindly reach for the remote and turn off the bright screen. He welcomes the darkness for it simply exists – without feelings and beliefs, without betrayal and judgement.

He is still sitting in the dark when Tony quietly enters the room and takes a seat right next to him. Peter doesn’t think he’ll be the first one to speak but he’s surprised when he opens his mouth anyway.

“I’m sorry I can’t be what you need me to be.”

Peter blinks against the darkness and slowly turns towards his guardian’s voice. A new form of terrified taking residence in his chest and tying is tongue.

“I couldn’t let them get away but I don’t think this is the end of the line, it’s only the beginning.” He sighs heavily and it’s the most forlorn sound Peter has heard in two years. “I can’t drag you down with me, Pete. I can’t.”

He shakes his head, violently spreading droplets of salt water left and right before he realizes he’s crying. “You can’t leave me,” he pleads in a whisper. He wants to be held. He wants Tony to come closer, open up his arms and tell him that everything was going to be okay. He wants the universe to assure him that he won’t be left. He wants to be held.

“Pete.” It’s as much an apology as it is a plead. “The path I’m on,” for all his bravery, Tony’s voice breaks on that sentence and Peter hates him a little bit for it, “I don’t know if I’ll end up in the light but I do know that I can’t pull you into the dark. You’re too good, kid. You’re the very best thing in a cruel world.”

“I don’t care.” He reaches out into the darkness tentatively and when he finds Tony’s hand, holds on to it for dear life. “I don’t care about being in the dark as long as I’m with you. I don’t want to be alone. Please don’t leave me all alone.”

And, with so many words still lingering between them, Tony pulls him closer and into his chest. As Peter sinks into the embrace and his tears soak Tony’s t-shirt he doesn’t really listen to the whispered promises in his ear because the love in his hold is much more of an undeniable truth than any words ever could be.

He holds onto that and hopes that it’s enough.

**Author's Note:**

> Once upon a time I set out to write a villain! Tony fanfiction cause @ironfamjam wanted one.... I kind of ended up with this... It _might_ end up being continued one of these days? Who really knows... What did y'all think?


End file.
